What he wants
by darkdancer
Summary: SLASH! The Headless Horseman has a plan to get his head back, a plan that involves Ichabod.
1. The Horseman has an idea

Pale skin, hair black as a raven's wing, a stark contrast. His hair was always mussed, at odds with his otherwise immaculate appearance. Deep brown eyes that bored into you when he was awake. But the Horseman rarely saw him awake, usually fast asleep or fainted. And his lips, full and shapely. The Horseman wondered what they tasted like, what that lovely skin tasted like. What it felt like to run his fingers through that soft hair. To feel the young man's body shudder beneath him as he entered him.

But he couldn't do any of that. Not while the black witch held him captive. He snorted in self-deprecation. Don't hide from the truth. You couldn't have him even if you were free of the black witch. Someone so beautiful has no place with a ruthless corpse like yourself. Let him marry the white witch and have hoards of children. But no matter how many times he told himself this he couldn't stop thinking of him. Such a mystery, coward one moment, hero the next. He intrigued the Horseman, and he tempted the horseman. And the Horseman had never been much good at resisting temptation. Suddenly an idea came to him. He called Daredevil to him. If he couldn't possess the young man as he wanted at least he could bask in the glow of his presence.

****

Ichabod was sleeping peacefully, curled up in his bed, hair sprayed across the pillow. Not a thing disturbed him. Until a gloved hand came out of nowhere and clapped over his mouth. His eyes snapped open, the light of the moon showed the owner of the glove plainly. It was the Headless Horseman. Ichabod promptly fainted. 

The Horseman was torn between amusement and sadness. He had to do something about the young man's habit of fainting whenever he saw him. Hopefully it was only due to his headlessness, a situation he planed on remedying quickly.

He slung the young man over Daredevil's back and mounted, riding off into the woods. The first part of his plan was complete, he had the young man, now all he had to do was to convince him to help him. And find some way to communicate with him, for obviously talking was out. Damn he missed his head. Mounting Daredevil he raced back to the Tree of the Dead. 


	2. The plan

Ichabod woke somewhere that was not his bed. He hated when that happened. It was usually because he'd fainted. But he clearly remembered going to bed. In his own bed. Or rather, in the bed he was borrowing for his sojourn in Sleepy Hollow. But the point was, he was in a bed that wasn't the one he fell asleep in. 

Now, who had moved him, why had they moved him, and where had they moved him to? He thought for a moment and remembered. He'd been sleeping, peacefully for once, and then he'd felt a hand cover his mouth. He'd woken instantly to come face to ----- er that is, he'd seen the Headless Horseman looming over him. Needless to say he'd fainted. The Horseman had probably then picked him up and carried him here. Ichabod was also fairly sure 'here' was the Tree of the Dead. Which only left his third question. Why? Why kidnap him? If his investigation was getting in the Horseman's way there was an easy remedy to that. One swing of the axe, swish, and Ichabod would be just another headless body. He obviously had no qualms about killing. So why spare Ichabod?

Ichabod peered cautiously out from beneath the covers. No sign of him. Best to use this time in investigation. He rose and began prowling the small room. All very Spartan, a single chair, a rough, sturdy table, and the bed he just rose from were the only furniture. There was a single candle burning steadily on the table. But search as he might he couldn't find a door. He was trapped.

And it was freezing. He absentmindedly rubbed his arms, trying to figure out what to do. A heavy cloak was settled around his shoulders. He pulled it closed. Turning to thank the owner he found himself once again facing the Horseman. He felt the blood rush from him, of course it was the Horseman. Who else would be in the Tree? Damn, he was going to faint again. His knees buckled. Strong arms fastened around his waist. Ichabod felt a shiver run through his body. 

He rather liked the feeling of those strong arms around him. He didn't know why, and he had a feeling he didn't want to know why. With monumental effort he pushed his disquieting thoughts away and stammered. "Wh-Why----- Why have you brought me here?" The horseman released him, which made him feel oddly bereft, and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he had painstakingly described his problem on. His ability ro write in English was shaky at best, and his handwriting was horrendous. But Ichabod was able to puzzle out these words,

Black witch, Lady Van Tassal

Stole head, using to control me

Need you to get head back

Ichabod gulped, "Of course." He told the silent figure, "Merely take me to where it is and I'll get it back for you."

The Horseman gestured and a hole appeared in the Tree. The Horseman exited through it. Apparently Ichabod was expected to follow him. He did so quickly, trying to ignore the severed heads that lined the passage.

****

The Horseman was trying not to think about how nice it felt to be able to touch the young man, no matter how briefly. And he was cheered considerably by the fact that the young man hadn't actually fainted when he saw him, and had even been able to talk to him, however much he stuttered. With a sense of unease he realized he didn't even know the young man's name. Perhaps it was better this way, it would be easier when the young man left this way. Names were personal, and he daren't hope for what he knew he couldn't have. And the young man _would_ leave, as soon as he got his head back and stopped killing. He was almost tempted to keep killing just to keep the young man around. But the young man wouldn't like that, he could tell. He mounted Daredevil, and waited patiently as the young man scrambled up awkwardly behind him. Oh sweetness, that young, lean body pressed against his back, those arms wrapped tightly around his waist, hanging on for dear life as Daredevil sped through the forest.


	3. The Skull

The Horseman knew where the Black Witch lived. But she'd cast spells to keep him from taking his skull back. He knew she kept the skull in the mill where she cast all her spells. As he raced through the woods the Horseman realized that the young man (who he really had to find another name for) was in some danger from the Witch. And since he'd been sleeping when the Horseman had---- appropriated him he was unarmed. The Horseman knew his Liebling would not be able to wield his sword. However, he still had a dagger he kept tucked in his boot, it had been his father's and was all he had left of him. When they stopped the Horseman demounted. Reaching up he helped the young man down from Daredevil's back. Ah, that hand in his, slender, but surprisingly strong. His brown eyes, at once intelligent and vulnerable, innocent and worldly. The Horseman marveled at this ravishing angel made flesh who the fates had tossed in his path. No, he scolded himself, remember, stay in the moment, pay attention. Focus on getting your head back without letting the Witch harm the beautiful young man. The Horseman found himself dwelling on the second part. No. No one was going to hurt him.

****

Steeling himself Ichabod accepted the Horseman's hand off the horse. They were at an old, broken down mill. He shivered involuntarily, was everything in this town eerie? Apparently this was their destination. Also, apparently he was going alone, for the Horseman stood to the side and gestured to the mill. 'Of course you're going alone.' he scolded himself, 'Obviously he can't get the skull back himself or he wouldn't've shanghaied you.' Still, Ichabod felt oddly bereft without the Hessian's silent presence. He knew he should be scared, terrified, near fainting. But he wasn't. For some reason he felt safe when he was with the Horseman, protected. It was ridiculous he knew, but feelings were seldom rational, which is why he did his best to repress his. He took a deep breath. Best to get it over with. Before he could enter the mill the Horseman stopped him. He turned, the Horseman was offering an old dagger. He flushed as he realize he'd been about to enter a potentially dangerous situation without an weapon. He felt so odd, clad in only a loose white shirt and black pants. "Thank you."

The mill looked exactly as one would expect it to look like. Nothing overtly out of place. Ichabod sighed and began combing the mill for the stolen skull. He finally found it while shifting through a pile of hay. Or rather he found a wooden box which he hoped would contain the skull. It was locked, but Ichabod considered it his duty to know the methods which people might use to break the law. To put it bluntly he knew how to pick locks. So he set about picking this one. However, just as he heard the distinctive click that indicated that the lock was open an angry female voice demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Ichabod turned. Not releasing the box he replied, "I could ask you the same question Lady Van Tassal. But since I believe I already know the answer I believe I'll finish here first." He would have to be wary of her, after all, she was responsible for the deaths of seven people. He wasn't counting Brom naturally. Opening the box he revealed the Horseman's skull, nestled in a bed of black satin, how quaint. He reached for it, and was knocked flat Lady Van Tassal hurled herself at him. "Oof" The box and the skull it contained spilled to the floor of the mill. Ichabod scrambled to get it. Lady Van Tassal seized his hair in an attempt to stop him. Desperately he turned the Horseman's knife on her, plunging it into her thigh. She screamed and released him. Quickly he grabbed the skull and darted out, carrying it. The Horseman was waiting outside, somehow he managed to look anxious, despite lack of a face with which to put an expression, such as anxiousness. Ichabod was incredibly curious about how he could see without a head too, or smell, or hear. But obviously he could, because he responded when Ichabod spoke, and he wasn't walking into trees or anything. Now wouldn't that look funny? The ruthless Horseman bent on killing you just walked into a tree.

Taking the skull from Ichabod the Horseman placed it on his shoulders. There it began one of the most remarkable, and, from the looks of it, painful, transformations Ichabod had ever witnessed. He was so engrossed in the regeneration process he failed to notice Lady Van Tassal come up behind him. "Interfering fool!" She cried and plunged the dagger into his back. He gasped in surprise, vaguely he heard a cry of denial coming from the Horseman. As the black oblivion claimed him he only had time to regret that he would never see the Horseman's face.

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Darkdancer: Whew, that was hard to write, took me three days. 

Ichabod: I'm sorry, I've never done this before you know.

Darkdancer: I know, I don't expect you to have the skill of my more experienced muses. I should've started you with a PWP like I did Jack.

Ichabod: PWP?

Darkdancer: Mmmhmm. But that'll be the next fic. I have this great idea for you, the Horseman, and bondage. Not quite a PWP, more of a lemon actually. Now that I think about it.

Ichabod:, bright red : B-Bondage?

Darkdancer: Mmmhmm. (To the readers) and now that that chapter is over with (except for some lovely feedback) I can finally get to the fun part of this story. On with the slash!


	4. The Slash

Ichabod woke in a semi familiar bed. Which was far better, in his opinion, than waking up in a strange bed. The only question was, why was he waking up? He could've sworn he was dying when last he knew. Perhaps he was dead. How would he know after all? He'd never been dead before. Maybe this was the afterlife. Huh, not what he'd expected. But who was he to be choosy? Odd though, that one could feel pain when one was dead.

An unfamiliar face on a familiar body peered down at him. He blinked, the Horseman, it must be. Dark hair, even more wild then his was. Pale, unearthly eyes, razor sharp teeth, and the magnetism Ichabod had come to associate with him. If anyone could tell Ichabod about being dead it was the Horseman. After he'd been dead for 20 years. 

"Am I dead?"

"No, the Black Witch missed all your vital organs." responded a rich voice with a heavy German accent.

"Oh."

"But you are still hurt and I suggest that you not move for the time being."

Ichabod, who had been contemplating doing just that blushed and frowned. He hated being inactive. However, since the Horseman seemed bent on keeping him here perhaps he would be willing to answer some of Ichabod's questions. Cheered by this thought Ichabod settled himself in the bed (which was a surprisingly comfortable one) Best to start with the most important one, "What's your name?" then realizing with a flush that his own manners had been rather remiss he added hastily, "Mine's Ichabod, Ichabod Crane."

The Horseman seemed rather surprised. "My name was—" he frowned, trying to remember, "It has been many years since I've used it," he apologize, "Not since I entered manhood and became a Hessian. My name was–is....Albrecht. Yes that's it, Albrecht. Not exactly the fearsome name I craved in my youth."

"It's better than Ichabod." Ichabod pointed out.

"I like your name." Albrecht protested. "It's a lot like you, beautiful and strong." Ichabod blushed, surprised. "You– find me appealing?"

"You are the most gorgeous human I have met. Yet you are more than that. You have a hidden fire that powers you, and an amazing mind. But I'm sure many have told you this."

"No, no one," Ichabod told him, blushing, "I'm not you know, I'm too skinny, too pale, too serious. And people say my eyes are unnerving." Ichabod explained, embarrassed and slightly breathless.

"Then people are fools for nor appreciating your effortless beauty. You are slender, not skinny. Compared to me you are quite tanned." Albrecht pointed out. "You are a little too serious, but that is immaterial. You're beautifully sculpted, the epitome of male beauty."

Ichabod swallowed. He had to ask, now that the idea had occurred to him it would wiggle in the back of his mind until he gave into it. "Albrecht? Would you?" He hesitated, then mustered up his courage. "Would you–kiss me?"

Albrecht was shocked, "You truly want me to kiss you mien Liebling? Think carefully, for once I taste the sweetness of your lips I doubt I will be inclined to let you go again."

Ichabod understood and thought about what he had in the outside world. The scorn of his superiors, the contempt of his fellows. Everyone he met thought him a coward and an eccentric. Except for Albrecht. Despite what Albrecht might believe Ichabod knew it wouldn't be Albrecht who wouldn't be 'inclined to let go', but Ichabod. The feeling of being loved was headier than any drink, and far more addictive. "Yes." He said confidently, "I want you to kiss me— I want you to love me." 

This was all the invitation the Horseman needed. 

[censored]

  


Later (much later) Albrecht cradled Ichabod in his arms, lightly stroking his cheek. He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. "Now your hair's as messy as mine."

Ichabod chuckled, then yawned. "Albrecht."

"Hmm?" Albrecht regarded his sleepy lover with amusement. He thought the younger man would never wear out. 

"What does Mien Liebling mean?"

"My love."

"Oh," Ichabod smiled and closed his eyes, snuggling closer to Albrecht. 

"But I have another name for you as well now."

"What's that?"

"Mien Frühzeit." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Frühzeit is when the sun comes up."

"Oh, sunrise or dawn."

"Yes. Now sleep, you've had a long day."

"Ichabod chuckled, "I'll say."

For those of you at Fanfiction.Net the uncensored version can be found at my site 


	5. The epilouge

_To the High Constable of New York_

  


_ It is my sad duty to inform you of the sudden demise of the valorus Ichabod Crane, who you sent to investigate murder in Sleepy Hollow. One morning Constable Crane was found gone from his bed, but with all of his belongings still in place. Not long after my dear wife was found dead. The last victum of the Horseman. We at Sleepy Hollow believe that the Constable was killed fighting the Horseman, but no body was found. I have enclosed his ledger. I hope you will remember and honor him as we at Sleepy Hollow shall._

_Sincerly, _

_Baltus Van Tassal_

  
  


Baltus Van Tassal shook his head sadly. Following the death of both her suitors, Ichabod and Brom_, _Katrina had gone to live with his wife's eccentric sister in the western woods. Despite his pleadings she would not return home. And all expiditions to forcibly return her home had been unable to find the strange woman's cave.

****

The Witch of the Western Woods cackled. Her evil sister had done some good in all her scheming. For she now had an eager young apprentice and the Horseman had found love. Humming to herself she stirred her potion patiently. She wished she could see the look on the lovely young man's face when Albrecht presented him with the token Katrina had liberated from his belongings after his dissapearance. A small token, cardinal on one side, an empty cage on the other. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Darkdancer: There, are you happy?

Ichabod : Yes, I like the ending. I think Katrina would like being the witch's apprentice. 

Darkdancer : Huh, you'll hate the next one. 

Ichabod : Oh no, what are you planning?

Darkdancer cackles in amusement. : Just wait. 

Ichabod: Tom did warn me you were sadistic but...

Darkdancer: Hee hee, you should listen to Tommy-boy. He's been my muse for the longest. Oh come on, a little angst never hurt anyone

Ichabod is frightened.__


End file.
